


magic and monsters (that look like us)

by endcity



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (i dunno. its not high fantasy.), (this is probably what low fantasy looks like right?), Gen, NOW GET READY FOR LOWEST FANTASY, YOUVE HEARD OF LOW FANTASY, everything else is weird, this week: jacobi has a not great time, traditional definition of necromancy, urban fantasy in space. space fantasy opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11734848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endcity/pseuds/endcity
Summary: Kepler hired a ballistics engineer, not a magician.Or, on a Hephaestus more magical than mundane, everything is basically  the same.Plus, The Sound of Music ft. Colonel Killer, three monkeys approach, Nouns, what a vinaigrette is, and the knowledge that your thoughts really do matter.





	1. no wealth, no ruin @eiffel

**Author's Note:**

> im tired of looking at this buds. the formatting might be a little iffy but i wrote it on my phone. also this was published on august 16 idk what the archive says
> 
> in truth I didn't create all the stuff you see here for this au. I just. took one of the fantasy universes I was developing and went splat  
> warnings - everything in eiffel's backstory - alcoholism, car accidents  
> warnings for everything fun I put in - kinda existentialism, themes of turning out like your parents, racism (mostly internalized), catholicism, and just Not Great relationships  
> ps. eiffel is haitian in this fic cause i'm haitian and its not like we all don't project on Eiffel shamelessly  
> pps. there's ocs but they aren't here for ship reasons  
> un-post scripting, lets begin my magic 359 au with a character who actually can't do magic.  
> (i'm serious. nothing eiffel does in this chapter is considered "magic" in this universe.)

Douglas Fernand Eiffel is thirteen years old. He likes superheroes and Star Wars (even though he had to watch it with friends, because his parents didn't want him seeing it). He thinks it's the beginning of August.  


Things like this happen.  


Memories can be like autumn leaves. Beautiful until they blow away. Beautiful until they rot. Memories can be stolen or sold. Broken or borrowed.  


It's not early August, Douglas. It's two weeks into September.  


Things like this happen.

There is something called the Second City. The wind never stops blowing there.

✯

The wind might blow you away.  


The wind might grind you down.  


This can have the same result. Erosion and oblivion are two very similar coins.

✯

So when what makes Douglas Douglas starts being blown away, he doesn't notice. He was never trained for the possibility of having himself simply slip away, buffeted by something that calls itself a wind.  


Is a tornado a breeze if everyone says it is? Generally, yes.

✯

Being a Navigator is inherited. Statistics put it between _almost always_ and _absolutely_.  
However, in grander scales, there is no such thing as no one, and there certainly is no such thing as everyone. The world is too big to demand such exclusivity.  
Douglas Eiffel is a very lucky boy.

✯

Kayla McKenna is older than Douglas, and lives on the floor under him. They're friends in the sense that their parents make them do projects together. She's standing at the door holding a plastic plate covered with a napkin.  
"Hey, Doug? Can I come in?"  


He thinks about the summer project he has absolutely started. Then he thinks about the fact that the kitchen is a bit of a mess and his mom wouldn't be super mad at seeing Kayla but she would be _pr-etty_ annoyed about letting her see a dirty kitchen.  
"Uh... Gimme a sec."  


He starts dumping everything back into their respective places, or the sink. Dirty egg beating bowl - check, egg carton - check, bottle of wine that his parents didn't put away yesterday - check, spices - check, and a weird greasy plastic lid - check.  


At least he's not wearing pajamas. Bless the people who wear the clothes they wore in the day to the night. He was wearing this yesterday, right? He must have been.  


He opens the door. "I'm three paragraphs in my essay on The Witch."It was actually called The Witch of Some Town, but he really didn't remember the town.  
So when Kayla steps over the iron-and-salt pipe and tells him that he should probably sit down, because she has something to tell him, he doesn't really expect for her to tell him that he's a Navigator and that without her help, he really could have died, and no, it's not August at all.

✯

After definitely not burning some eggs and eating the cookies she brought (apparently her grandfather saw the future sometimes and said the cookies would be needed, which Douglas considered much cooler than nearly being made into nothing), he learns that the tiers of reality are less like clearly labeled floors and more like a breaking vinaigrette, what a vinaigrette is, and that no, not all Navigators have it as a family thing. Just almost all Navigators.  
Then, of course, his parents wake up.  
He gives an awkward wave. " _Alo... Mwen vle di ou bagay_?"  
Compared to that conversation, the _other_ reveal goes a lot better. 

✯

Right after getting what was most likely the shortest "here's all the ways how not to die with your new abilities" lesson, Doug goes back to school. The walk home goes by a funeral home. This time, compared to every _other_ time, the funeral home is singing. Doug feels happy and sad and angry and peaceful all at once. Then he realizes that the funeral home isn't singing as much as simulating sound.  


He walks faster. 

⭑ ⭒

Ida McKenna is a Navigator, Doug's probable mentor (like Uncle Ben and Yoda combined) and Kayla's grandmother. She has a wrinkly Old Face, along with a trademarked Old Smile and Old Eyes. This is the person you should generally go to in the case of singing funeral homes. So when Doug tells her, she pats him gently on the cheek and tells him he's a necromancer.

✯

Douglas Fernand Eiffel is sixteen, and a bit on the fence about the whole necromancer thing. On one hand, ghosts are already dead and he does like helping them. He should get community service hours for that.  


On the other hand, he can't actually raise the dead. He can reach beyond the veil and yank, but it'll snap back. Contrary to popular movies, he cannot raise a zombie army.  
(Technically, he could bind some spirits to some really newly dead corpses, but it would be more of a trio or a... septet, which really isn't an army. _Alongside_ the part where decomposition comes for everyone.)  


He was pretty sure he would look awesome in all black, though. It sucked that capes had gone the way of disco.  


Also, he could totally get possessed. He was really, really good at getting possessed. He was getting better at fighting off possession, but that didn't matter to the English assignment that was due today. So when he asks, Doug grins and accidentally shows all his teeth. "I was possessed."

⭑ ⭒

Fortunately for everyone, Mr. Curtis accepts late work.

⭑ ⭒

Doug kind of wants to chew on this pen, but that would be kinda gross. If chewing on his pen would help him get this project done, he would totally do it, though. What's in-between the lines of a story?  


His mom looks up from the onions she's cutting. "Is that late work?"  
Doug wants to say that he's trying his best and no, ghost duties aren't as important to me as school, and yes, I _will_ make you proud.  
He doesn't say any of that. He looks down. He looks up. Very quietly, he says "Yep."  


She sighs. "Douglas, you can't let this keep happening."  


Doug fidgets with his iron bracelet. He doesn't tell his mom that he took off the bracelet yesterday because he just wanted to help, and that he had helped. He gets why Navigating is hereditary, because this would be a lot easier to explain.  
"Yeah, ... _manmi_ , I'm sorry. No ghost business, okay?"  


He's not sure if he means it.

⭑ ⭒

There is always a story between the lines.  


There is five cities. (They aren't cities at all, but we really aren't there yet.) The first city was a place of gods and really powerful monsters, even though nobody wants to mention that part. It was creation, probably with a Capital C.  
The second city is the one that's regularly relevant. That's where thoughts are, good and bad. It's what fuels sigils and sparks conjurations.  
The third city is where we are, and it makes every other city look normal. Somehow.  
The forth city, the bane of my existence, is where the dead guys go.  
This book says that the fifth city isn't a city at all but the fate of all cities, so I'll just state I share no acquaintance.  


Anyway, we know these aren't cities. They're Tiers. Each tier makes up a Spire, etc etc etc.  
The story goes on about some dude from the Third City who got lost (also probably with a capital L), came back and taught his family the craft. Then they teach their kids, so on and whatever.  


This story says this man was the first Navigator.  
Firstly, this man should have been overwhelmed or hollowed out or just straight-up died, so major props.  
But this story doesn't say the skill left the family. And it doesn't explain how every single Navigator isn't related. 

✯

Doug thinks about disappointing his parents a lot. They don't say it often, but they think it often.  
"You're who we left the country for. We left behind our family for you. Do well by us."  
Sometimes he wishes they would say "Don't be like us".  


Sometimes Doug hates himself. Everything he got from them seems to be a disadvantage - dark skin, curly hair, a slight accent that pushes everything to the left.  
It's not really that. He just feels trapped. The Bible says honor your father and your mother, which he only knows through the grace of going to church with his parents, because he would have never actually read the Bible himself.  
The Bible doesn't say anything about getting it wrong. It doesn't count the part where you could be getting it wrong, generation after generation.  
His father _and_ his father _and_ his father.  
The thing is, Doug really does love his parents. He knows that they have been working everything they can towards him. He wants to do right by them. He just doesn't want to be like them.

✯

His parents have always loved his country more than he has. It isn't love of this country making him walk into the recruitment office.  
If it matters, they're very proud.

✯

When he wakes up from his first hangover, he decides he's never going to drink again.  
It's impressive how long he keeps that up.

✯

Douglas Fernand Eiffel is 23 years old. He's a first generation Haitian immigrant, was a recently employed communications officer, and currently a fuck up. Or constantly a fuck up.

✯

His parents don't even live to see that part.  
You would think he, as a quarter-decent necromancer, would be able to have one last chat. There's none of that. Not where they went.

✯

When Eiffel finds out he's going to be a father, he kicks the beer bottle at his feet and mourns the fact that he turned out worse.

⭑ ⭒

The first time Eiffel tries going sober for the baby, he can't get to the trashcan, so he vomits into a pot of mostly eaten rice instead.  
The third time's the charm. Everyone knows charms don't last forever.

⭑ ⭒

Eiffel is walking and completely sober, which he should be happy about. He hears a radio crooning _fear to bring children into the world_ and feels like punching something.

✯

Eiffel knows that generally, your soul is rubbing up against other souls all the time. Everybody is connected, - sharing, giving. You don't really notice it.  
The moment Anne Garcia is born, he feels part of himself shooting out like a star.

✯

There isn't exactly a Binder here to make this oath extra binding. (heh) But if there's anything good about being a Navigator, it's that his words tend to matter. He just needs to mean it.  
(He just needed to be not afraid.)  
He also needed suitably fancy language, but he hated that part. Actually writing his oath down pained him/  
"I, Douglas Fernand Eiffel, swear by my blood and my being, bind myself to protect my daughter from myself and other threats to the best of my ability. I swear this oath until my death, of body or of identity."  
He feels like someone spiritually pinched him- he knows that he could do wrong by her. Then Anne squeezes his little finger, and he grins.  
He can do this. He's going to do it for her. He's going to do right by her.

✯

One case of acute acoustic damage and a teenage paraplegic later, he's proven wrong.

⭑ ⭒

The thing is, oaths don't actually stop you from doing anything.  
They just ensure punishment.

✯

There's a man in a tailored suit who hasn't stopped smiling even after going through lockup security at nine in morning.  
He wants to send Eiffel to space. 


	2. the moments that keep us moving @jacobi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _thermoreception_ \- sensory process by which different levels of heat energy (temperatures) in the environment and in the body are detected 
> 
> _recovery_ , antonyms - deterioration, relapse, decline, fading, sinking, wilting, withering, worsening
> 
> Featuring: opened minds, necessity, unimportance, and distortions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacobi, an unreliable narrator on a good day, is not having a good day
> 
> warnings: you know how I said that I actually just took stuff from an entirely separate world I was developing to make this au? this chapter includes the horror stuff. (I was trying to avoid it but this came out anyway. have fun!)  
> , jacobi's back story, body horror, and regular horror stuff (whatever that is), dpr
> 
> also kepler is very not subtle during things that break other things and my hc is that Jacobi is Very Aware of him playing him like that so yeah, he doesn't really like him (I have plenty of words to spare about this if anyone wants to know 4 real)
> 
> also anyone who can do magic is known overall as a magician - there's specific terms for skills but yeah

Your name is Daniel Jacobi. You have magic.

It's a part of you, but it's not your heart or your blood. It's your appendix, at _best_.

You've gone years without casting a single spell. It makes itself known in its neglect, but even that stops soon enough. It's _meant_ to be used, but it doesn't _need_ to be.

Magic doesn't stay around. No spell lasts for longer than what piece of yourself you put into it, and magic is rarely on your side in the first place. It's always an unequal exchange. 

Magic requires the kind of investment you can't provide. Even with your three monkeys approach to mental health, you aren't actually interested in running yourself into the ground.

You learn how to make things that break other things instead. You get _really_ good at it.

Then there is -because apparently you're the _villain_ of this story, and _every_ villain needs an origin - an Accident. You lose your job. Two men lose their lives.

You're a structure-binder with no skill in illumination whatsoever. It's a great kit for a doctor. You were never interested in being a doctor.

If you get magic that doesn't fit you, you probably were never meant for magic at all, right?

△

At the end of your screening with Kepler, he asks about any supernatural abilities. You rattle off your domains like a good little soldier, and then accidentally, immediately, prove yourself wrong by setting your arm on fire.

It's the top of the hill from which you topple.

△

You're not a domain magician anymore. 

There was a time when you were the barely metaphorical sacrificial lamb for the death of two men. Magic loves sacrifice.

You don't even know when you lost your old magic. 

You're a pyromancer now.

You guess that this is supposed to be magic that means something to you. 

△

You are not handling this well. You had been pretty earnest in just ignoring your magic like normal. 

This does not work out.

When you first get magic (anyone can get magic and for some reason, that person is you, twice over), it needs to make itself known. Generally, this means enhanced perceptions on things relating to your domains. Well, your magic. You're not a domain magician anymore. 

(Can something be unimportant if it's loss is what keeps you empty?)

It's like your _old_ sixth sense got replaced with a different sixth sense which came from aliens.

You get too close to an air conditioner and _doctor doctor help I have frostbite help_ , and none of that is true. Your body isn't any more damaged than normal. You're on the left side of _just fine_.

You're clocked and wired and dialed up and everything is _intense, but not real_. 

This isn't payment. This is punishment.

(Sometimes, when things get really, really, _really bad_ , you hear laughter.)

△

When you have to do Real People Things, you make yourself _less_. 

[shrinking violet, smoking violet]

It's not the worst solution you've ever had, but it's up there.

Kepler doesn't say anything, until he does.

You doesn't see how that helps. You're not who he hired. You're not even who you used to be. You're a livewire. You're a liability.

△

This won't be forever. All things have an end.

It's not the good kind of reassurance.

△

Kepler actually had the audacity to look concerned, like he didn't _somehow_ just so happen to find you on your worst day and offer an opportunity you would always take.

Stranger danger, Jacobi.

( _You're_ the one who took the offer. Are you a stranger if you don't know yourself anymore?)

You try to laugh, but choke on your water instead. You cough, then spit. None of it is red.

△

When you start actually treating your Brand New and Absolutely Shit Sixth Sense like a sense, something clicks. It's almost easy now, like you weren't on a tightrope, like you weren't falling in extremes.

(Does suffering count as working for it?)

Still you haven't been actually happy in a long time. You'll take what you can get.

△

The first time you try casting a spell, you black out.

It's not that demotivational, until you realize it _was in your head_.

△

Okay, so, with magic, there's a resistance. An appeal to disorder is an attack to the order.

The resistance isn't just exhaustion, or an inability to cast spells.

It's a plague for the plagued.

△

Everyone's says the best way to handle it is to remember that it _doesn't care about you_. 

There's a voice like a swarm of locusts (it's not a voice at all, translate, translate, _understand_ ) and it's been inside your head and _outside_ your head because it is everywhere. 

(Not _nowhere_ , because there will never be an absence of it. This thing is thousand times older than humanity and a thousand times worse.)

You can't win this.

△

Sizzle, sparkle, falter.

Is this in the script?

△

It says a lot of things.

_[That won't make a change. You weren't good enough then, and you aren't good enough now.]_

_  
_

_[There's a reason your magic was useless to you. Magic will always be useless to you. No matter what form it takes. Remember that.]_

_[Are you doing this for yourself?]_

Half-truths are the best truths, after all.

△

Kepler hired a ballistics engineer, not a magician.

You don't have to be both.

So who are you proving yourself to?

_[I doubt you have it in you to try again.]_

_  
_

△

Things aren't right there, so they shouldn't be right here.

(As above, so below.)

△

Kepler looks concerned, sometimes. 

Magic either _runs out_ or runs _you_ out, and you're always close to that slick, glistening edge.

Kepler can be concerned if he wants. Flesh, blood, tendon, bone - you wish your own belonged to you.

As it is, Kepler is real enough to worry.

You're not.

△

_[You don't get special attention from me. You're just weak.]_

_  
_

△

You should probably start casting spells the right way. 

Admittedly, The Right Way involves Proper Communication, which sounds like _horseshit._

_  
_

So you don't have a friend, foci, or even a hextongue.

Kepler tosses you a freely-given lighter.

One-third. Not bad.

This should be great. You've never actually had a foci before? It's a bit of a mystery.

Damn it.

△

Technically, the resistance is only there when you use magic.

So why do you never really feel alone?

△

Things get better. Things get worse.

Kepler locking you in a room with a bomb is the start of more things getting better than worse, which says a whole lot more about your life than you're comfortable with.

Maybe having something to be comfortably angry about helps. Anger always helps.

△

Your name is Daniel Jacobi. You're pretty sure it's just you, these days.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacobi doesn't know anything about the cosmology of this universe, which is a good thing for him, but a very bad thing for me, BECAUSE HE DOESN'T. KNOW ANYTHING.
> 
> title from the temper trap's soldier on
> 
> binder (trans laughter) - blood magician  
> illuminator - light magic  
> structuring - not healing magic, but like... body magic
> 
> also there's a ton of stuff between the lines this chapter i actually know!! So you can ask
> 
> also. Jacobi just got a lot of things wrong about magic. A lot.  
> if you saw a shortened version of this chapter blame ao3

**Author's Note:**

> Alo... Mwen vle di ou bagay - Hi... believe it or not?  
> (its supposed to mean i have to tell you something, but i think that was way too literal, and also saying believe it or not is Very Eiffel)
> 
>  
> 
> The chapter title comes from Oh Death and the song referenced at the end is Masters of War, both of which have been sung by so many different people I'm not going to bother with artist names.
> 
>  
> 
> binder- blood mage (except I don't think I'm gonna use the word mage in this fic. ever. But yeah.)
> 
>  
> 
> feedback would be nice mostly because I haven't written fanfic in like. two years and I kinda don't wanna fall into bad writing habits or anything  
> also you can ask questions because uh there's a lot going on here  
> next chapter will be Jacobi, and it won't be told like this so, uh. news?


End file.
